L4D's Tank Poem & Background Story
by TayLautzFan
Summary: This is how the tank came to be. Rated T for language and violence.


**Tank's History**

Butch Green was a nice family man who lived in Alabama. He had a good job, a good wife, and three kids. He worked at a gym that was conveniently located a few blocks from his house. It was obvious he was a serious body builder, by looking at the thick bands of muscles that wrapped around his whole body.

But like all people, Butch had a flaw. He was an alcoholic. Though he hid it well at his job, he had a serious drinking problem. When he would get drunk, he would get considerable angry and accuse his wife of doing things that weren't true in the slightest.

One cold November morning, at around seven, Butch was jogging the few short blocks on his way to work. When he got there, he readied himself for his daily weight lifting, greeting his friend Larry as he did. No one was there but Butch and Larry. People started to come in by nine.

As he lifted the 300 pound weight, he watched the news.

"The CEDA has announced that a very dangerous, very infectious disease is spreading throughout the United States. They suggest you seal and lock your doors, wash your hands periodically, and isolate yourself until help arrives for you." A reporter said on the news.

"Do you buy it?" His friend Larry asked.

Butch scoffed. "That reporter is in California, Larry. She doesn't know anything. Even if it was true, CEDA will solve the problem before it gets out of hand. No cause for panic. CEDA will get right to it. Problem solved already. Twenty one…..twenty two….twenty three….twenty four……twenty five! Done! Feeling great!"

He dropped the weight and went to go take a shower. "Watch the gym, will you? I'll be right back."

"Okay. When your back, I'm taking off early. You should do the same." Larry told him.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Butch said sarcastically.

Butch swaggered over into the locker room, and opened his locker. Reaching into it, he pulled out a small bottle of whiskey.

He stared at the bottle for a long moment. "Don't do it, Butch." He told himself.

With an apprehensive sigh, he opened the bottle and swallowed the whiskey down in a big gulp. "Dammit!" He groaned.

Irritated, he undressed himself and walked into the shower room. He couldn't enjoy the steamy water very much; he giving in to the alcohol made him angry. He felt so weak.

As the water ran down his body, he looked around. An eerie, funny feeling was catching up to him. He stared at the vents. They were blowing hard; he could hear it over the sound of the rushing water.

Suddenly, he felt very sick. He heaved over and threw up. On the floor was a dark green substance. It bubbled and churned, like it was alive.

Horrified beyond reason, Butch half-jogged out of the shower room. "What the hell?" he wondered. He headed into the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

And gasped.

His skin was pale and white. Boils and bumps were starting to grow on his hands and neck,

"What?" he asked out loud. He grabbed at his hair, closing his hands, panicked. His breathing spiked as he looked at the alarmingly huge amount of hair in his hand.

Without thinking, he punched the mirror, making it shatter.

He looked at his hands. They were swollen and red.

He quickly ran into the locker room and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from his locker. The bottle was 4 times bigger than the last.

Stressed and desperate to throw himself out of reality, he chugged the alcohol down. He only had time to put on his jeans and shoes until the alcohol started taking affect.

Butch came out into the gym, dazed.

He was surprised to see a CEDA agent armed with a shot gun in a hazmat suit talking to Larry.

"No, we haven't been infected or whatever." Larry said dismissively.

"We need to search the area and evacuate you two immediately." The CEDA agent said. "Heard that, buddy?" Larry asked, turning to Butch. "We gotta go."

Butch didn't answer. He stepped forward and threw up again.

"He's infected!" The agent said. Quickly, he aimed his shotgun and shot Butch in the chest.

Falling back, Butch retreated into the locker room.

"You've been exposed." The agent said accusingly to Larry.

"No! No! I feel fine!" Larry protested.

The agent was going to say something else, but the sound of a roar of fury interrupted him.

"Stay back. I'll check it out." The agent said. Larry backed up to give the agent some space.

"Oh man. What's going on here?" Larry asked out loud.

"The Green Flu." The agent said as he darted into the room Butch had retreated into. "Your friend has been infected with it."

Larry stayed still as he waited for the agent to return. He looked at the green slime Butch had coughed up. Suddenly, Larry wasn't feeling too good himself. The look of the slime made his stomach churn uncomfortably.

Trying to get a grip on his nausea, Larry walked a good distance around the slime and sat on a nearby chair.

No more than five minutes after he sat down, he heard a loud crash, a shot, the sound of metal being abused, and then something busted through the wall. It flew into the other side of the room before hitting the ground.

Larry got up and tried to see through the dust and debris. "What the….?"

It was the CEDA agent, crippled and broken.

Larry gasped and whirled around to look at the huge hole in the wall. Approaching it slowly, he stuck his head in the wall and looked around.

He barely registered the danger before a huge, pale, bloody hand reached out swiftly and grabbed him.

**Tank's Poem**

Why? Why do I feel the need to kill?

To hurt those who have never hurt me?

Those questions don't bombard me anymore.

All I care about is the quenching of my bloodlust

As I watch the helpless bow down permanently under me.

I have encountered those who fight back.

Who don't give in like the rest.

Who underestimate my will and power for nothing.

But this is no problem.

It's something new and challenging.

It's a much better reward when I win and they are pounded

Into the ground like the rest of them.

The feeling of hope has disappeared

Once they see my fist hover above them.

It's usually the last thing they see.

For I am the all mighty of the mightiest.

The God on the earth.

The deliverer of Hell.

I will kill you.


End file.
